Fight Dirty (8 page)

CHAPTER 14

A
ndre led Jenna upstairs to her loft. Usually he relished taking a moment to enjoy the way the morning light scattered across the polished floors and wide open spaces, but today he was distracted. It wasn’t often that Andre felt nervous before an op—almost never, in fact—but after three tours in Afghanistan, h
e’d
learned to trust his gut.

“We need to cancel,” he told her once the door was closed behind them. “Ther
e’s
something not right about this.”

“What?” she demanded, moving past him to lean against the arm of one of the twin leather sofas that sat perpendicular to the entrance. “Everythin
g’s
fine. We’re getting paid, we’re starting our business with a major client, and we’re getting rid of Morgan for a few days. The trifecta of perfection, seems to me.”

Andre studied the space sh
e’d
put between them—a sure sign that she wasn’t about to compromise. But this wasn’t a debate about which restaurant to order takeout from. They were talking about potentially risking Morga
n’s
life—or at the very least, making her life miserable for the foreseeable future.

“There you go again. Talking about getting rid of Morgan, like sh
e’s
not even a person. Jenna, seriously, I don’t think you see how you change when you’re around her—and not for the better. You become someone I don’t even know, someone I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Like you don’t change when you’re around her? You turn into Mr. Big Brother. Always protecting her. You think you know her so well,” Jenna scoffed. “Let me show you who your little friend really is.” She whirled around to the front of the sofa where her personal laptop sat on the coffee table, punched a few keys, and pivoted the laptop to face him. “Little fiend is more like it.”

Andre crossed from the door to the sofa, taking the seat beside her. He watched as a grainy security camera video played. There was no sound—there didn’t need to be.

A girl, maybe ten or twelve years old, dressed in a winter coat and hat, came into view, her back to the camera as she crossed an empty lobby. The camera was obviously situated in a small-town police station—no, sherif
f’s
station, he realized as he spotted the insignia on the deputy who opened the office door and smiled at the girl, crouching down to her level, then inviting her through to the office behind him.

There was nothing after that. Andre glanced at Jenna who nodded tight-lipped at the screen. A few seconds later a dark fluid that showed black against the light-colored floor seeped from beneath the closed door that the deputy and girl had gone through. Blood. A lot of it. Too much of it.

A minute later the door opened again and the girl reappeared, this time in the company of a teenage boy. She leapt over the blood and smiled up at the camera as if performing for an audience.

It was Morgan. Behind her, framed in the open doorway was the deput
y’s
body.

Andre slumped back, stunned. “Morgan killed a police officer? Why? How?”

“Did you see her smile? She enjoyed killing him, Andre. Tha
t’s
the point, tha
t’s
what you can never forget. As to the why and how, her father is Clinton Caine.”

“The serial killer you and Lucy Guardino caught. He made her do this? Sh
e’s
just a kid—”

“Clint always worked with a partner. First his wife, then when she got sick and died, his son. Started taking the boy fishing—tha
t’s
what he called it when he stalked and kidnapped his victims—when he was just six. But the kid never had the heart for helping his dad, so Clint hit the road and found another partner.”

“Morgan? How old was she when he took her?”

“Ten. Young enough to control and train. He taught her everything she knows—how to hunt, how to lie, how to manipulate, how to kill.”

Andre had heard about Caine and his decades of torturing and killing women. To be a kid, growing up with that as your entire worl
d . . .
it explained a lot about Morgan.

But it sure as hell didn’t explain Jenn
a’s
actions.

“How could you not tell me? You let me invite her into my home, introduce her to my Grams,” he said. “You knew what she was—”

“You knew as well, Andre. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it when you first met her.”

He had. An animal instinct to avoid a predator. Andre had ignored it—he was used to being the defender of the pack, the big, bad, ugly monster that predators ran from.

But not Morgan. She hadn’t run. No. Sh
e’d
sidled close, snuck under his guard. “Why isn’t she locked up?”

“For what?” Jenna scoffed. “That tape isn’t enough to charge her, especially as ther
e’s
no physical evidence.”

“Has she killed since? Is that why sh
e’s
here, to hurt you?” Fear threaded his words.

Jenna looked away with a strange grimace twisting her face. “She followed Lucy home to Pittsburgh. Has some crazy idea of giving up killing and becoming a normal girl. Figured Lucy with her perfect husband and perfect family was the one to show her how.”

“I can’t imagine Lucy putting up with that.” The FBI agent would never allow someone like Morgan near her family.

“No. So Morgan began stalking me instead. Back in December when the Zapata cartel declared war on Pittsburgh, she came along for the ride.”

“Zapata was going to kill you. She risked herself to save your life.” H
e’d
felt grateful to Morgan for rescuing Jenna. But maybe her actions had been more self-serving than self-sacrificing. What did saving a life even mean to someone like Morgan?

“She enjoyed killing Zapat
a’s
men. Enjoyed the idea of playing the hero for once.” Jenn
a’s
tone was bitter, the words spilling from her in a rush. “Enjoyed getting away with it even more.”

Andre thought about that. “She values her freedom.”

Jenna nodded. “About the only thing she values.”

“Maybe sh
e’s
serious about giving up killing. If it ensures her freedom, keeps her out of jail—”

“Tha
t’s
what Nick says.” She sounded like she didn’t believe the psychologist. Nick was one of the smartest men Andre had ever met, but he had to admit, sometimes he was too much of an idealist, always wanting to see the best in people.

Then he realized the implications. “Wait. Does Nick know about Morgan because you and Lucy told him? Or—”

“H
e’s
seeing her. Even he won’t call it ‘treatment.’ Says the only thing sh
e’d
learn from conventional therapy is how to better blend in and take advantage of people. But he and Lucy decided it was the best way to keep tabs on her since we have nothing we can lock her up for.”

Andre thought back to when he was a kid, running with the gang until he was arrested. He remembered sitting with the lawyers and the marine recruiter. With as many members behind bars as on the streets, going to prison was seen by the Rippers as graduating to “Killer U.” At least with the marines, h
e’d
also be serving his country, protecting civilians, learning to channel his pride and anger into something more than banging for colors. “I’m not sure prison is the answer for someone like her.”

“I know. Sh
e’d
come out even more vicious than her father ever was. Another Caine set loose on an unsuspecting population.” She shuddered, but it wasn’t real. Almost as if Jenna had rehearsed this entire conversation. She was like that, always anticipating the worst, trying to prepare and guard against it.

Which meant that Jenna, despite what she said, for whatever reason, wanted Morgan to stay. Andre thought about that. He was sure it was about more than protecting the population against a budding psycho-killer trying to redeem herself. Wished he understood the bond between Jenna and Morgan, but like so much about Jenna, he resigned himself to taking his time and being patient.

“I guess we’re stuck with her. Like guardians, teaching her how not to kill.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to his side. “I know it seems hopeless to you, but I was twelve when I got jumped into the gang. Despite all that, I turned out okay, didn’t I?”

“Tha
t’s
different. You’re different.”

“Not so sure about that. The only difference I see is that I had people watching out for me. People like Grams, then my squad, and Nick helping me when I came back, and now you.” He kissed the top of her head. “Seems like we’re the best chance Morgan has.”

“If she slips up? We’re talking peopl
e’s
lives here.”

Andre was glad she couldn’t see his face. Because although he meant what he said about helping Morgan, no way in hell was he about to let her hurt anyone ever again. Especially not Jenna.

Morgan might have learned how to kill from her father, but Andre was a battle-hardened marine, twice her size. If it came to it, h
e’d
put her down as quickly as he would a rabid dog.

CHAPTER 15

W
hen Jenna returned without Andre and wearing a conservative grey sweaterdress that made her look ten years older than she was, Morgan knew something was up.

Jenna shot her a glare, then to the Greenes she said, “Slight change of plans. We need more intel before we can commit to placing an operative inside ReNew. I’ll be accompanying you instead of Morgan.”

Robert Greene spun to face her. “No. Tha
t’s
not what we discussed.”

Jenna didn’t back down. “Nevertheless, i
t’s
what has to happen. You and I will go inside ReNew as prospective parents, learn their security routines, get a better feel for what Morgan will be facing. Then we can safely send her inside—if we need to.”

Green
e’s
face tightened. “You’re wasting time. We all know sending the girl in is the best way to finish this.”

Morgan watched, interested. Finish what, she wondered. Sending her in wasn’t going to end the Greenes’ fight against ReNew—in fact, any evidence she collected would only be the start of their battl
e . . .
if tha
t’s
what they were really looking for, ammunition against ReNew.

“Andre wants to see you,” Jenna told Morgan, dismissing her from the conversation.

Didn’t matter. She was just as happy not to be going to ReNew—at least not until she understood Green
e’s
motives better. As curious as she was about what happened to Bree while inside the treatment center, she wasn’t foolish enough to allow anyone to use her as a pawn.

She walked up the steps, wondering if Jenna had found something out about the Greenes. Maybe sh
e’d
discovered new info on ReNew that had made her change her mind about sending her in this morning?

The door to the loft was open. Andre waited on the sofa, but he didn’t turn to look at her as she entered, despite the fact that she knocked. The March sunlight came in through windows and the overhead skylight, reflecting from a thin sheen of sweat that covered his scalp.

Morgan stayed close to the door, keeping her exit clear, not sure why she suddenly felt uncomfortable being in the same room as Andre, but she wasn’t one to ignore her instincts. “You wanted to see me?”

“Jenna told me the truth,” he finally said, still not looking at her. Instead he stared at a blank laptop screen. “About you. About your dad. What you two did together.”

The air in the room sparked with emotion—all of it from Andre. If anything, during fight-or-flight situations like this, Morgan felt less than nothing. She was too busy calculating the odds, assessing each possible response, and deciding what would get her what she wanted.

He turned. Slowly, as if he were an old man too heavy for his years instead of a twenty-six-year-old former marine in excellent shape. “I just have one question.”

Silence grew as his gaze held hers. Morgan didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, although every ounce of her energy folded in on itself like a fist closing, ready to strike.

Not physically—she wouldn’t stand a chance against Andre, not when his guard was up. But the right words could bring even the strongest man to his knees, and she knew exactly where Andr
e’s
weak spots lay. He had people he would protect, people he would die for.

His grandmother. Jenna. Nick. Even Morgan herself, once upon a time.

“What?” she prompted him, weary of the wait. “What do you want to know?”

His jaw tightened, making the scars crossing his face bulge. “Do you regret it? The things your father made you do, the women you killed together. Do you regret any of it?”

She opened her mouth, ready to tell him what he wanted to hear, but he held a hand up, stopping her. “Please, Morgan. The truth. You owe me that much.”

Anger flashed through her at the thought that he assumed she owed him anything, but she doused it with a calming breath like Nick had taught her.

Owe? She didn’t owe anyone anything. No debts, no regrets—it was part of her new way of life, the one she and Nick were working on building. A set of tools to survive, a wolf loose among so many unsuspecting sheep. Deciding when she owed a debt, navigating those human interactions others took for granted, was a challenge she took seriously.

She hated the thought that anyone felt they deserved a piece of her. Her freedom was too valuable to squander.

But she did respect Andre—a lot. She even liked him, enjoyed having him in her life.

If there was any chance that he would continue to be a part of her life, sh
e’d
have to risk telling him the truth. Andr
e’s
bullshit meter was too well honed for anything else.

“No,” she answered. “I don’t regret any of it.”

His eyes blazed, hands clenched into fists, but he didn’t raise them. Instead he slumped forward, hands dangling uselessly between his knees. “So i
t’s
true.” His words emerged with a sigh. As if he hadn’t truly believed until now. “And people call me a monster.”

Morgan gave in to her impulse, moved across the space separating them, and gave him a quick kiss on the top of his head, now in easy reach with her still standing and him below her on the sofa. He flinched—he should, because he was vulnerable sitting like that, so close to her. She could have just as easily slit his throat.

“Trust me, Andre,” she whispered. “You’re no monster.”

He shied away from her touch but didn’t look up. She perched on the arm of the sofa. “How can I have any regrets when I wouldn’t be here today without that time with my father? How can I regret my life, Andre?”

Usually she never explained, but she was curious what his response would be. Would a man wh
o’d
seen battle, wh
o’d
killed with his own hands understand?

“And those women?” he asked.

“If they had lived, I would be dead now.” It was the simple truth.

The one thing her father had promised her was that she would never live to see a day behind bars. A fate worse than death for a wild one like her, h
e’d
said.

As if she didn’t see the truth behind his words: if they were caught, she was one more potential witness. If she and her father had been caught together, her father would have killed her himself—to silence her.

Andr
e’s
hands clenched and unclenched, and she knew he was remembering the men h
e’d
killed.

“When was the last time you killed anyone?” he asked.

“I’m not like my father,” she answered, annoyed that he saw her as some kind of out-of-control psycho-killer on a rampage, dropping bodies left and right. “His hunger drove him. He was reckless, impulsive.”

“And you aren’t?” He turned to meet her gaze, his own accusing her.

“No. I am.” She smiled. “But unlike my father I have something I’m passionate about, something strong enough to give me control.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “And wha
t’s
that?”

“The last time I killed anyone was the night I saved Jenna.” She stood and gathered her breath. It would be the first time she spoke the words out loud to another human, not even Nick. “I won’t kill again because I don’t want to ever end up in a cage like my father. I want to live a long and happy life, Andre. Outside of prison. I want my freedom.”

“Tha
t’s
it? Tha
t’s
what keeps you from killing?” He pushed to his feet, standing too close, inside her kill zone. And he knew that. She liked that he showed no fear, understood he was challenging her on purpose. “You enjoyed the killing, the chaos, the power over others, didn’t you? It was fun for you and your father.”

A spray of spittle accompanied his words, but Morgan didn’t back up. She decided to give him the truth.

“It was,” she admitted. “I was a kid in a candy store, and nothing I wanted was off-limits. My life with him—it didn’t feel real; it was like some crazy, mad dream. I’m older now. I understand the consequences. I know what I want, and I’m going to get it.”

It was just that simple. And that hard. She met his gaze, watching the range of emotions twisting his face. Disgust, fury, skepticism. Despite his scars—or maybe because of them—Morgan could read Andre better than she could others. Most people never saw beyond his mask of scars, but they didn’t distract her.

Finally resignation filled his eyes. Nick had that same look every time she came into the office. As if Morgan was a burden to be carried.

She didn’t care. If Nick and Andre helped her get what she wanted, she didn’t care why they did what they did. She didn’t ask for their help; she didn’t owe them anything. These men o
f . . .
honor was the best word she could fin
d . . .
they assumed responsibility without being asked or told.

That was their weakness. She might respect Nick and Andre more than most Norms, but damned if she wasn’t going to use any advantage given her.

“I want to tell you to leave, to never come back,” Andre said. “But where would you go? Who would watch over you, stop you if you lost control? Who would die or be hurt if I did that?”

Morgan had no answers, so she gave him none. Instead she waited for what she knew was coming. Was curious to compare it to the ultimatum Nick had given her when he first began working with her.

“But I warn you, Morgan,” Andre continued as Morgan hid her smirk. He sounded exactly like Nick had. “You hurt one person—good, bad, I don’t care—you take one step out of line, and I will end you.”

Andr
e’s
threat hit harder than Nic
k’s
. Because, unlike Nick who would never entertain the thought of violence, Andre wouldn’t simply call the cops or try to send her to prison. H
e’d
kill her. “You know I can, and you know I will.”

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Good to know where she stood. She nodded her assent, her respect for Andre a notch higher.

Still. If their positions had been reversed, if sh
e’d
been him, facing a monster like her, she wouldn’t have hesitated to finish things once and for all. Killing her now, whether or not she kept up her end of the bargain, was the only solution to the threat he faced—but men like Andre and Nick, they were blind to that. Had to follow their rules. Their code of honor.

Andre should have killed her. Prevented any worry and saved future bloodshed and pain.

And they both knew it.